Underground Notes
by Tacel
Summary: PreHBP character drabbles. As Harry grieves the loss of Sirius, some of his closest companions consider their roles in his life, and what he means to them. [Implied HHr]
1. Lupin

Musings

The finely pointed, hollow tip was immersed into a small bottle, filled to the neck with black ink. Removing the quill from the inkwell, Remus J. Lupin put the goose-feather quill to parchment, writing in a slightly scraggly print as he penned his observations down for his mind to sort out (unlike Dumbledore, he did not have the benefit of a pensieve every time there was some stray thought to be organized) stray, harried thoughts. With attacks on Muggles becoming more frequent, and the Order helpless to do everything in their power in order to keep from jeopardizing the ability to continue saving others, the few weeks that had passed since the Hogwarts term had let had been nothing short of chaos around Grimmauld Place. Sighing heavily, and quill full of ink forgotten, Remus rubbed his temples in a smooth circular motion, banishing the headache that attempted to plague him—it wouldn't do to have unclear thoughts, just now. He had to get it all down on paper so things would stop buzzing around in his head unnecessarily. And so he resumed his writing after a fresh dip of the quill into ink.

_'I worry about Harry. Ever since his return to this place, something has changed. Of course, it was hardly a surprise when he came back sullen – he'd just lost the closest thing to a father he'd ever had – but nonetheless, it is painful to watch someone who ought to be enjoying some of the best years of his life sit silent and brooding, face pale. He's skinnier than before, if that's even possible, and his hair messier than ever. Merlin, he looks so much like James at times it's hard to look at him at all. And then those eyes…green (Lily's eyes) behind dirty glasses. They're dead, almost—he's become a listless sort of shell, no matter what we try. Not that we haven't—myself, the Order, the Weasleys, Ron and Ginny especially, but to no avail. Something's bothering him, and probably something much heavier than Sirius' death. Which is saying something—even Molly misses him, in spite of how often they disagreed. Would you believe it? She's been nice to Dung ever since! Dumbledore doesn't say much on the matter, except that Harry will come around on his own—I don't think I've ever heard him speak that way about Harry before, and so sadly. No, something is the matter that's much deeper than anything that Harry or Dumbledore will say. Perhaps when the Weasleys get to stay here full time once more, and when Hermione comes, Harry will be willing to open up to his friends. He speaks to me, but no longer confides—I just hope he's not afraid that he'll lose me too. This entire mess shall have to be—_

A pause in the scratching--Remus had stopped writing. Creaking footsteps of someone descending the stairs reached his ears, and with a shake of the head, Remus muttered, "_Incendio_," and tossed the ashes of the parchment into the fireplace. Brushing his hands off and putting away the old quill, he turned to face a young man of nearly sixteen, who had stopped in the doorway, a questioning look on his face made plain by sad green eyes that peered at him through glasses that had been broken far too many times.

He'd have to remember to get Harry new ones, Lupin decided for a split second as he remained at an impasse with the Boy-Who-Lived. He was far too skinny, and pale. The clothes he wore (cast-offs of his cousin's) only accentuated this by their bagginess, and the trainers on his feet were worn, and the soles (as always) were peeling. A regular waif and old beyond his years—it took all of Lupin's resolve and discipline to simply give a small half-smile and ask,

"All right, Harry?"

"Yeah."

It was a lie—Lupin knew that without even having to think about. Harry was far from all right, and had not been 'all right' since a young age. More likely, the boy had never been all right. It simply wasn't fair, Lupin mused, that someone as decent as Harry had yet to have a painless year of his life since that fateful Halloween nearly fifteen years ago. But Lupin didn't bother with pointing this out to anyone, let alone Harry. Merlin knew he had enough to deal with! And so, Lupin informed him of the only good news that the werewolf could think of,

"I expect the Weasleys will be staying here instead of the Burrow the rest of the summer. They should be arriving soon. Hermione as well."

Harry's features brightened immediately. Well, they brightened about as much as his expressions ever became happy these days—a hint of happiness in the eyes, and something that might have been a smile begging to tug as the muscles in his face. Less prominently, and much more subtly than any allowance of happiness, was something that looked oddly enough like guilt. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Harry was still blaming himself for the incident at the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore had been right, to an extent—some things take time to heal, and this was one of them. Lupin could only hope that Harry would be given that time, and that his friends really would be of such a good aide as to help him move through his grief…and whatever it was that bore down upon him so heavily as to even overshadow that.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment longer, before Harry dashed back up the stairs, probably to confirm that Lupin had been telling him the truth. Sighing, the man watched his best friend's son disappear before sitting down at the desk again, this time to write about Order business.

---

Author's Note: Wow. It's been a long time since I've gotten the opportunity to write an author's note, or post a bit of writing. This story is a character exercise I composed just a few weeks prior to Half Blood Prince's release. Obviously, there won't be any spoilers for that or Deathy Hallows. The idea was to try and get into the heads of some of Harry's closest friends--Lupin, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.

Reviews are wonderful, and enough of them can motivate me to add other the three chapters.

Oh yes, and I obviously don't own Harry Potter. Ergo, this story is on a fanfiction site.


	2. Ron

I'm Not Jealous

His jeans were too short again—and the holes that had appeared about where the knees ought to have been were about as large as the Snitch, white fray adorning the holes not considered. His mother had promised to fix them, but as usual, she was much too busy fussing over Harry's disheveled and apathetic appearance, Ginny's decision to try out for Chaser (which meant having to get a broom with money they didn't have), Fred and George's booming Joke Shop, Percy's staunch refusal to apologize, Mr. Weasley's stress at the Ministry, Charlie's dangerous job in Romania, and Bill's long hair, fang earring, and absolutely gorgeous new fiancée, Fleur. There was never any time for Ron, unless something like a shiny Prefect Badge that Harry should've gotten came his way.

Sure, Fred and George were more than happy to let the Weasleys share the profits of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, but his mother's stubborn dislike of their choice in profession had, as of yet, forced the rest of the red-haired family to decline—not that it didn't stop the twins from bringing a few things for everyone whenever they had time to stop by. Fred and George were pranksters, yes, but even those whose whole lives are dedicated to joke-making can find it in themselves to be generous to their families. Besides, there would be a wedding to help plan for the next winter, when Ginny and Ron could be there.

And Harry still wouldn't tell him what was wrong. Weren't they best mates, or not? Ron knew Hermione might be right in saying he had the 'emotional range of a tablespoon,' or whatever it was that she had said, but still—he cared about Harry too! And it wasn't like no one but Harry had known Sirius – Ron missed him too – and yet he found fit to go moping about, like some tragic little hero all the time. Oh, bloody hell, there went his jealousy talking again!

"Harry's your friend; you don't want to be the hero with the madman after you!" He muttered under his breath. "Even if he does get all the attention, and the nice broom, and the money…"

"You can have all of that. Except the Firebolt."

Ron jumped so badly it was surprising Grimmauld Place was still intact. Wincing, he rubbed the back of his head (where he'd hit it on the wall when he'd started), muttering,

"Blimey, Harry, you could've given me some warning there!"

Harry Potter smirked and shrugged.

"Sorry. Thought you knew I was there. Guess not."

"Obviously!"

An awkward silence fell over the two as they trudged up the stairs to the room they would be sharing. Entering, Ron threw his shabby bag of things down onto his bed, following it shortly in an undignified manner. Harry sank down onto his own bed, looking just as shabby as Ron, if not more so. Ron had never really noticed it before—but Harry was hardly better off than him in the Muggle clothing department. Perhaps his jeans weren't too short and ripped like Ron's, but they were several sizes too big, and rather ugly at that (and was it just him, or did they almost look like someone had tried to dye them _grey?_).

He didn't mean to be jealous of Harry; really, he didn't. It just sort of crept up on him sometimes—everyone was always so worried about him, and no one, not even his own mother, paid more attention to him than Harry. His best friend cast possibly the largest shadow for someone to be under than anyone in all of Britain, and he already had to compete for attention with five older brothers and a younger sister! Harry got everything Ron had ever wanted, except for a silly badge that came with duties Ron didn't really give a Knut about.

There was nothing to do—Harry was staring off into space with that pitiful 'I-hate-my-life-so-much' look. Holding back a frustrated sigh, Ron pulled out some Chudley Cannons posters and began to tack them up around his bedside. Might as well make it seem a bit more like the Burrow. Grimmauld Place was dank and moldy and, quite frankly, Ron hated it here. As though to save them the trouble of having to start another short-lived and awkward conversation, Mrs. Weasley's voice rang through the house – the portrait of Mrs. Black had been successfully removed a few days ago – so that there was no escaping a relived grin on Ron's face.

"Lunchtime! Ron, Harry, get down here and help me set the table!"

Shrugging, Ron stated in a feeble attempt a joke, "We'd better go, or Mum'll start yelling louder than she would if Fred and George were here with their new inventions."

It didn't quite work, but Harry did manage to a smirk at Ron's remark, and the two boys headed downstairs to help Mrs. Weasley set out the forks, knives, spoons, napkins, and goblets upon the long table. Lunch was eaten in relative quiet—just Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Ginny, Ron, and Harry. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talked quietly amongst themselves, and Ginny was soon talking to Lupin about her plans to try out for Chaser – his mum had nearly dropped her goblet at the mention of Ginny's Quidditch plans – which left a brooding Harry and a hungry Ron to eat in silence. Ron couldn't remember a meal with his family that had been so quiet, or at least not since the day Percy had left. Speaking of the prat, he still hadn't apologized, even though it was common knowledge that any day now Fudge was going to be sacked and Percy probably along with him. 'You'd think he'd have the brains to at least apologize to us, and then look for another job,' Ron mused with a bit of annoyance as he helped himself to a second serving.

As though someone had sensed the need for some noise in the eerily quiet mealtime, someone rang the doorbell and a few minutes later, Ginny reentered, with Tonks alongside her. The pair chatted animatedly, and conversation around the table improved significantly afterwards. Even Harry laughed at one point, though it struck Ron as sounding cynical. Someone more observant that Ron might have caught on the slight change in the way Lupin and Tonks spoke to each other, but no one at the table besides Ginny had so much as a clue, and she wasn't about to say anything. If there was anyone she was concerned about, like everyone else, it was Harry.

Towards the end of the meal, Ginny nudged Ron and gave him a significant look. Whatever it was she was trying to say though, Ron didn't catch it, and a frustrated Ginny whispered,

"We need to talk to Harry. Something's wrong."

A furtive glance at Harry, who was currently talking with Lupin with little fervor, and then,

"I know, Gin. But he's not letting me."

"Well, we'll just have to try harder."

That frightening glint in her eye began to show up, and Ron was reminded for a short moment of Hermione and S.P.E.W. (worthless cause that it was), and he shuddered accordingly. Speaking – or rather, thinking – of Hermione, why wasn't she there yet? His mum _had_ said that she'd be arriving not too long after they were. The same thought seemed to have occurred to Ginny, as his younger sister soon asked,

"Mum, where's Hermione? I thought you said she was going to be here."

"Sorry, Ginny dear. Hermione had a few things to take care of with Dumbledore about getting here first. She'll probably be here tomorrow though."

No, Ron wasn't imagining things—there was definite expression on Harry's face. Disappointment, sure, but it was by far the largest amount of emotion Ron had seen Harry display the entire day. Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything if she did notice, however, and continued on in a business-like tone,

"Now, after you're all done, finish unpacking and I expect you all to be back down here in forty-five minutes so we can start to clean out some of the upper rooms. We've made a lot of progress, but there's still a ways to go before everything's fit for the Order to inhabit."

Instead of the predicted groans and complaints, the three students simply nodded in meek acquiescence. Once they finished, the trio trudged upstairs, Ron and Ginny pushing through the door to the boy's room ahead of Harry. Trading private, but determined (if worried), glances, brother and sister plopped down together on Ron's bed, neither trying to get too comfortable. Harry looked at them quizzically as he plopped down on his own, but let them try and figure out to say on their own. Ron somehow found it in him to speak first,

"Harry, mate, something's wrong."

---

I know the actual quote uses the word "teaspoon." It was just more amusing to exploit Ron's bad memory.

Author's Note: Yay! That's Chapter Two, everyone! Please leave reviews, because I really would love to know what you all think! Next chapter will be from Ginny's P.O.V., and the final chapter from Hermione's.


	3. Ginny

You Don't See Me

"Harry, mate, something's wrong."

'Bravo, Ron! You actually said something right!' She thought crossly, a concerned expression plastered on her face—not to say she wasn't concerned, but rather to mean that she was trying not to be slightly peeved by her brother's bluntness. Why did he always have to be so direct? Now Harry was sure to know exactly what they were up to, and close up tighter than Dumbledore's office against that hag Umbridge! Sure enough, Ginny's guess was correct, and Harry simply looked at them with feigned surprise, replying simply,

"What's wrong?"

Ginny wasn't one to be easily defeated (especially with a lie), and even as Ron tried to catch her eye to give her a 'see-nothing's-wrong' look, she had already begun to answer,

"You barely eat; you almost never speak; you sulk about the house, and I'm willing to bet a hundred Galleons that you're not sleeping much either because you're afraid of having nightmares about You-Know-Who."

"Wha-what?"

The dumbfounded look upon her brother's best friend's face immediately betrayed she was right. On the other hand, the look was quickly becoming replaced with rising anger, and it made both redheads visibly uneasy, like they were afraid he might start yelling again.

"I'm fine." A pause, "I don't want to talk about it anyways."

"Harry, we're your friends—"

"Yeah, well, right now I just want you both to give it a rest. Leave me alone!"

To the surprise of both Weasley children, Harry whipped out his wand. In the back of her mind, Ginny had a nagging feeling he would never use it on them and didn't move—that is, until Ron was literally shoving her out and closing the door. A click in the doorknob told her that it was locked. A furious Ginny stormed into her own room, where she sank down onto her bed for about two seconds and then began to unpack her things in violent manner. How dare he! How dare either of them kick her out like she was nothing more than Ron's baby sister! Ron was his best friend, to be sure, but she was Harry's friend too! They had more in common than Ron did with him! At least, in the stuff that mattered.

Throwing things about in a haphazard manner, Ginny came across something that calmed her down enough to smirk in a cunning fashion—an Extendable Ear. Snatching it up, the fiery redhead snuck out of her room, and standing in the doorway, let the object slither its way under the door of Harry and Ron's room. Placing the other end into her ear, she began to pick up what they were saying, as clearly as though she were still in the room with them.

"Ron, it's just—"

"Just what? You can't talk to me, mate? We're best friends, Harry!"

"Yeah, but it doesn't seem right without Hermione."

Ginny withdrew the Extendable Ear; she could finish the statement for him. Harry didn't want to talk to them because whenever he shared things that were important, it was always with Hermione and Ron, at the same time, and _only_ them. They were the inseparable Trio; no one could truly enter their circle, not her, not Neville, not Luna. It would always be the three of them: no more, no less.

That was why she had, in the end, realized what folly it was to continue to let herself pine after Harry—he would never see her as anything more than Ron's little sister. At best, he might think of her as a friend, but nothing more. It was much safer to move on before it was too late—and so she had. She'd been through more traumatic things than Ron, even – being possessed by You-Know-Who at eleven – and yet both boys failed to recognize she could hold her own. Thank Merlin for Hermione—the older girl was a wonderful friend to her. Perhaps she wasn't as close to Hermione as Ron or Harry, but it was still nice to feel some sort of inclusion. And Dean Thomas—he'd been writing her a lot recently. The thought made her feel somewhat better; _he _certainly didn't treat her like 'Ron's baby sister.' In fact, the only people who still thought of her like that – besides her parents – were Ron and Harry.

Ginny sighed. If Hermione didn't arrive soon, the fiery fifth year was afraid she might simply start screaming at the walls for company. However, whether or not she was really going to test this theory out was never to be found out, as Mrs. Weasley could be heard calling them all downstairs.

Oh damn—she was still standing out in the doorway, Extendable Ear sitting in the middle of the hallway. How on earth was she going to get out of this one? Trying to think up several excuses, half a minute transpired during which Ginny didn't realize her mother was downstairs and had no idea she'd been eavesdropping on Harry and Ron. Jerking it up towards her, the redheaded girl dashed back into her room, waited until she heard Ron and Harry's door creak open, and then reentered the hallway, pretending to have just heard her mother's call. Together the three traipsed down into the kitchen, where they were informed that today they were going to be tackling some of the rooms on the third floor—starting with a room that, while it greatly resembled the drawing room, looked as though it had been used as an office for someone (probably Sirius' father).

The time spent in the dusty room was passed mostly in silence, other than the occasional clang as something was tossed into the rubbish bag, or the doorbell echoed through the house as an Order member dropped by. Each time Mrs. Weasley answered it – Lupin and Tonks, evidently, had something to do that afternoon and had left shortly after lunch – the three of them tried to listen in on the conversations, but to very little point.

The objects in the 'office' were just as sinister, if not more so, than some of those in the drawing room they'd rid of doxies the past summer. Had Fred and George been there, Ginny mused, there would have been a large number of items in the rubbish bin missing. As it was, they were rather surprised that Kreacher hadn't started sneaking off with things hidden under his loincloth. Ron speculated hopefully that he'd died; Harry tried to avoid the subject; and Ginny didn't bother to tell them that Lupin had simply sealed Kreacher in the Boiler Room until Dumbledore could find the time to drop by and sort things out.

Ginny, of course, also had a fair idea of what Lupin and Tonks were actually up to. After all, the Auror was friends with Ginny, and it hadn't taken much work to surmise that the two had 'hit it off,' so to speak. Of course, nothing was formal yet—especially with Sirius' death, and the huge effect that was having upon Lupin. Whether or not it would last probably didn't matter—it was certainly somewhat consoling for Lupin to have someone to confide in now that Sirius was no longer around. What the three heard the eighth time that someone arrived, was Mrs. Weasley being overheard to tell Professor McGonagall,

"Yes, I think that as soon as Hermione gets here we'll take a trip to Diagon Alley. What with their O.W.L. results arriving soon, and Ginny really wanting a broom, it'll be nice to get out of the house."

While Ginny's face brightened immediately, she noticed that Harry's face became even more morose than before, and Ron turned rather pale underneath his freckles. Of course, the reason was apparent—their O.W.L. results, arriving about the same time as Hermione? It was enough to give any boy nightmares! She, however, had no such worries (not to mention the promise of a broom) and while the two glumly finished cleaning, she was actually humming to herself when Mrs. Weasley returned, adding,

"As soon as we finish this shelf, you can all wash up while I start dinner."

Of all the times Ginny had helped the others purge a room of dark objects, she had never been so eager to leave the company of Ron and Harry in her lifetime. Practically dashing out of the room, the redhead reached the privacy of her room before the other two were even on the same landing. Waiting for her was a rather handsome, but common, barn owl, the letter addressed to her in a messy scrawl that was unmistakably Dean's handwriting. Perhaps part of this day could be nice after all.

---

Author's Note: And I thought writing from Ron's perspective was difficult! As always, reviews make me happy as can be.


	4. Hermione

Comfort

It was abnormally cool this summer, and even in the middle of the day, most people were noted to be using their fog lights. This particular day was especially dank as a light drizzle was falling, and no sun broke through the slowly rolling clouds. A fairly nice car could be seen turning the corner into a particularly ugly neighborhood within the depths of London, and it looked rather out of place with its clean exterior. It was not a new car by any stretch of the imagination, but it was kept in good condition—there was no sound of screeching as it abruptly halted in front of two houses labeled eleven and thirteen. After several moments, a young woman with bushy brown hair stepped out of the car, pulling out a trunk and a basket containing what looked to be a ginger-colored cat whose nose was slightly squashed.

Bidding good-bye to the two people in the front seat – a man and a woman – the girl clutched her things and watched with a resolved manner as the car turned around in the cul-de-sac and drove out the same way it entered. As the vehicle left, its fog lights passed briefly over a damp sign that looked as though a gust of wind it would knock it over: Grimmauld Place.

What happened next might have looked very strange to any passers-by—though of course, there were none. The girl set her things down and pulled out a thin scrap of paper, and as she pocketed it once more, a house just as ugly as its neighbors appeared out of thin air, shoving aside houses eleven and thirteen. A silver 12 labelled this new house's door, and the girl picked up her things once more, and when she reached the door, she set them down again and knocked with the serpent knocker. A few minutes later she was being escorted inside by a stout, red-headed woman who looked absolutely delighted to see her.

"Ron! Harry! It's time for breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley's shout rang through the house pleasantly, and as the sound of footsteps became audible, the woman turned towards her newly-arrived guest and added,

"They'll be thrilled to see you. It was difficult enough to keep them from being upset when you didn't arrive yesterday. I do hope you can talk some sense into Harry though, dear—he hasn't quite been himself since arriving. Perfectly understandable, but I do hate to see the boy so miserable. Oh—but here's Ginny."

Cutting off the conversation before the bushy-haired girl could answer, Mrs. Weasley turned towards Ginny and began to speak,

"Ginny, dear, would you mind setting these dishes on the table? Hermione can help too, I suppose…"

It was rather useless to say anything, as the redhead hugged Hermione, and greeted her cheerfully. After exchanging several happy words with each other, the pair took up setting the table much like two sisters, chatting happily all the while. Smiling contently at the picture, Mrs. Weasley banished the sounds of wedding bells from her ears and called out again,

"Harry! Ron! Hurry it up, please!"

No sooner had she finished calling, then two boys of about sixteen came stumbling into the room, both obviously still half-asleep. Ron was the first to notice the presence of his bushy-haired friend, and greeted her sleepily,

"'lo, Hermione."

Harry looked up from his brooding, green eyes frantically swiveling about behind his lenses in a way that was terrifyingly similar to "Mad-Eye" Moody's magical eye. When he finally spotted Hermione, something like a grin broke out on his face, though it was quickly obscured by bushy brown hair as Hermione nearly knocked the boy flat in a hug. Ron stood aside, looking slightly abashed at his friend's behavior, but grew a little more comfortable once Hermione released her death-grip on Harry.

"Harry! Ron! It's so good to see you!"

She hugged Ron briefly as well, and grinned at them both, though perhaps somewhat anxiously towards Harry, who seemed to have just now figured out Hermione was actually here. A moment of awkward silence passed through the room, until Mrs. Weasley thought to say,

"Well, let's not let breakfast get cold—you'll need to eat before your O.W.L. results arrive."

"O.W.L.'s?" Hermione's voice rose significantly higher as a hint of panic filtered into her voice. "They're coming today? Oh no, oh no, oh no! I'm just sure I failed them all!"

"Calm down, Hermione—we all know you're sure to have gotten all O's on them." Ron immediately interjected, and Ginny was quick to add,

"No, really—you the smartest person in your year. You're bound to have gotten perfect scores."

Strangely enough, Harry said nothing—the news of O.W.L.'s hadn't really done anything to change his mood. All of the people in the room noticed this, and sat down without another word, though half-hearted attempts at keeping conversation continued all through a breakfast which Harry hardly touched.

As if to add to the strange air that filtered through the kitchens that morning, Hermione gave a cry of panic as three owls swooped in through the window, and came to land on the kitchen counter rather than stand around in anyone's eggs. Harry and Ron got up to grab theirs—Ron looking slightly sick, and Harry acting as though this wasn't the O.W.L. letter at all, but simply one with their Hogwarts list. Hermione had to be dragged over by Ginny, her face white as a sheet, all the while muttering about how she was sure to have failed them all. Harry and Ron had already gotten their letters, and their owls out the window, by the time Hermione actually reached the counter, and her hands were shaking so badly that Harry had to untie it for her. Noting how nervous Ron and Hermione were – and assuming had Harry been himself he would be too – Ginny remarked in a bored manner,

"Just open them all at once," before she went to help her mother clear the table; no one really wanted to eat anymore.

"One," Ron breathed softly, beginning to open his envelope.

"Two," Hermione continued as she pulled out the parchment, hands shaking horribly.

Three never came, as Harry simply opened his parchment and began to look as his results. Exchanging a worried look, Ron and Hermione then opened their own—relief immediately etched over the faces of both.

About thirty minutes later, the three friends traipsed up the stairs, Harry clutching a badge embossed with the words "Quidditch Captain" on it. O.W.L. results had been about as good as expected—the only surprise was that Hermione didn't achieve an "Outstanding" being Defense Against the Dark Arts. She had, of course, passed, with an "Exceeds Expectations." Harry, she was sure, was probably disappointed over the fact he could now no longer be an Auror, as he hadn't gotten an "Outstanding" on his Potions grade, but he showed no sign of even remembering what his scores were. Concerned, Hermione followed the boys into their room, and she sat down on the bed next to Harry, a concerned look crossing her face. Ron shut the door, and he plopped down on his own bed across from them.

"Harry? Talk to us. What's bothering you? It can't be just – you know – can it? We're your best friends; you can tell us anything." Well, might as well get it out in the open. Why waste time? Evidentally Ron thought it wasn't the best approach (how could Hermione know he'd already tried this idea?) as he was frowning at her, but he didn't say anything. Harry didn't say anything either, for several moments, and in hopes of reminding him he had to speak, Hermione added,

"Harry?"

Shaking his head as if ridding himself of thoughts, Harry finally spoke in a voice that sounded unused to speech, "Maybe I can't—can't tell you everything, because it would endanger you and Ron. I couldn't bear that, you know—if you died because you knew something you didn't need to."

Strangely enough, it almost sounded as though Harry had forgotten Ron was in the room, though Hermione overlooked this and replied in a soothing tone,

"Harry, being your friend has always been a dangerous choice of ours. But it's still a choice we made—and we're not going to leave you now."

"Yeah, mate. We're here for you."

Ron's encouragement seemed to hearten Harry a little more, and so with resignation he began to speak again. This time, he told them about the prophecy and how he was destined to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him. He told them about the horrible fear that he couldn't possibly kill Voldemort, and about how much he wanted Sirius to be around so that he could talk to his godfather (of course, the name Sirius was never used in this conversation, it was simply too painful). And all the while, his friends remained silent, listening with rapt attention. It was then that it finally dawned on Harry that they hadn't been unaware of the choice they had made—they really would always, to the best of their ability, be there for him. What really was the most surprising of all was the way that his eyes stung, and something hot welled up in them that he refused to let identify itself, even with Ron's assurance that he wouldn't walk out on his best mate, and Hermione's arms wrapped around his shoulder in a comforting way. This was what friendship and love were—Dumbledore had been right in assuring Harry that his friends really did care.

* * *

Years from then, when Harry James Potter was no longer known as The-Boy-Who-Lived, but rather the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort, a war that had taken its toll upon so many, as well as those Death Eaters who were now either dead or resided within the walls of a newly controlled Azkaban, peace had begun once more. In picking up the pieces from a war-torn world, the power that Voldemort had never understood – love – had indeed been found in the love of friends and of his wife. Ron had found a companion in Luna that never made him feel inferior, with her quirky admiration of everything he did and said, and Ginny too had found someone that admired her and would never let her down for anything—Neville Longbottom. Lupin had finally agreed that life was too short to continue breaking Tonks' heart because of his 'little furry problem' and the two were expecting their second child. Happiest of all, Harry had found he was still able to smile and laugh, thanks to the survival of the two people he treasured most in his world: his best mate, Ron Weasley, and his wife of four months, Hermione Granger-Potter.

* * *

Author's Note: A few plot points were taken from _Half-Blood Prince_ (like the O.W.L. results and Lupin and Tonks' relationship.). This is the last chapter of the story. But if you enjoyed it, I would like to get some feedback on a story I'm tinkering with right now, called 'Potential.' That story is post-Deathly Hallows, with the exclusion of the epilogue, and a little feedback would be nice.

Thanks so much to the kind reviewers for their comments! It's a very old story, and I'm glad my rewrite was received so warmly!

-Tacel


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